


Fragments

by hisami_kun



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisami_kun/pseuds/hisami_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles written for people when i used to role play as aoba.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Things Never Change

**Author's Note:**

> these drabbles are literally just sitting around in my writing archive, so i put my favourite ones together and decided to post them. i may or may not add the rest of them later on since i wrote quite a few. i'm about 99% sure that all of them were from tumblr meme posts, so some of them have the same prompt, only a few of them were given titles, etc. most, if not all of them are completely au. i tried my best not to have drabbles with the same character back to back because after reading through these again i've come to realize that i have a serious mizuki bias and wrote drabbles for him more than anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't remember what the prompt for this one was. i think it was "rough sex" but again, that's not what i wrote lmfao.

In the amount of time that Aoba had known Mizuki, the guy hadn't gone through many changes. Then again, Mizuki wasn’t really the type to accept change so easily; he wasn't adaptable, though it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It meant that when he instilled his faith in something, it stayed there; he didn't get bored and trade up for the next best thing. He and Aoba were the same in that sense, and maybe that was one of the reasons they were able to stay friends for so long.

They had been through a lot together.

Even Mizuki's apartment hadn't changed much. Although most things probably should've stayed the same if they worked well the way they were, even Aoba thought that having his furniture in the same place all the time was a little...boring, maybe. (Not that he could really say much considering his room was too small for any rearranging.)

The way Mizuki's few pairs of shoes were lined off by the front door was the same, the bare walls on the way to the main room were still that sickening beige colour. The small kitchen was still an organized mess that only Mizuki could manage to make look more comfortable than unsanitary. The light fixture in the hallway that led to the bedroom-slash-studio still needed a new bulb...

"M-mizuki... is it okay for us to be doing this?"

The door knob was still a little sticky, and the hinges eerily silent. The room was still that same chaotic mess of papers and spray cans and whatever else Mizuki used to practice his passion, the lingering scent of paint hanging in the still air.

"It's fine, Aoba."

The closet was probably still jam-packed with boxes of stuff Mizuki didn't even remember he had (or didn't want to remember he had, Aoba didn’t know).

"Don't you think it'll change things between us at all?"

The window was still unbelievably dirty as though it was never used, though Aoba knew that it was opened and closed at least twice every day (more than that if Mizuki was feeling especially creative).

"Not if you trust me."

Even that weird stain on the ceiling (the one that Mizuki had always intended to paint over because _dude; it looks like someone shot a wicked load and hit the ceiling with it_ ) was still there.

"You trust me, don't you?"

The hands creeping up the sides of Aoba's shirt faltered a bit but didn’t stop. Mizuki's breath was warm against his neck. Of all the questions he'd been asked before, during, and even after sex, this one seemed to be one of very few that Aoba could seriously give an answer to. He trusted Mizuki more than anyone, probably (aside from Granny, but that was another story). They might not have been as close as Aoba was with Koujaku (he’s not sure Mizuki's even ever been to the house), but he was definitely someone that he could rely on; talk to.

"Of course... You don’t really have to ask that."

Skilled fingers tugged at his belt and loosened his jeans, those same fingers feeling rough against his skin as Mizuki wrapped a hand around his length, stroking slowly.

"Good. But you should know... I'm not going to be too sorry if this hurts at all. Just because we’re friends doesn't mean I'll hold back." There was a smirk on his lips.

The bed sheets smelled the same.

"It's fine; I can handle it."

It really was okay, wasn't it? It wasn't the fact that they were doing something that most conventional instances of "best friends" didn't exactly include, but more so about what Mizuki would think when it was over.

Aoba was sure he wouldn’t see the other male any different; he’d still be that artistic genius who worried way too much about things that seemed kind of trivial, but held a much deeper meaning to them. He'd still be the leader of the largest Rib team, and the friendliest guy Aoba had ever met. He'd still be Mizuki.

But he was worried.

Would he still be 'Aoba' to the other male? Would he still be that friend Mizuki had when they were younger and did stupid shit together? Would he still be that friend who wouldn't join his Rib team no matter how many times he asked, but he still kept good company with? Would they still be friends? It wasn't meant to be a romantic thing; Aoba knew that much. Whether or not they had both come to want it, it was just...sex between friends. It sounded weird, but that's what it was.

Aoba had believed Mizuki when he said he wasn't going to be gentle. He also knew that the finger-shaped bruises that were going to appear on his hips within the next twelve hours were proof of that honesty. And maybe that’s why somewhere in between the desperate thrusting and the muffled groans and the embarrassing creak of bed springs, Aoba let himself go. Because he trusted Mizuki, and he probably knew him better than anyone.

"A-are you okay?"

"...Yeah, I'm okay."

Things wouldn't change.


	2. no title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: kiss me — jawline kiss

He was drunk. Just a little. Sort of. Not plastered, but not coherent enough to stop himself from getting hands-y. The fact that he was like this around Noiz just made the situation increasingly more chaotic.

If he was drunk and he was with Noiz, that meant that there was alcohol in the room, which meant Noiz was most likely drinking as well. Wasn't he still a minor? Whatever morality Aoba would normally have in the current situation had clearly gone AWOL, along with his dignity, and his respect for personal bubbles.

Not only was he finding any and all excuses no matter how big (like laying on him) or how small (like claiming there was lint on his clothes and reaching to pick at nothing) to touch the other male, but Aoba was pretty sure he was giggling. It certainly wasn't a side of himself he ever anticipated letting the younger male (or anyone, for that matter, really) see, but it was too late for a lot of things if he was already laughing.

At first Noiz seemed completely put-off. The excessive touching and out-of-character tittering had forced a small range of emotions out of the teen, starting from confused, to annoyed, and back to mild curiosity. And that probably should've been when Aoba found a reason to stop with his drunken antics.

The giggling had stopped after some while, the alcohol in Aoba's system finally taking him from ridiculously energetic to mellow and relaxed. Luckily for his inebriated state of mind (and its sick enjoyment of making him do embarrassing things he was sure to remember later on), being hands-y didn't require too much effort.

Clumsy hands reached for the collar of Noiz's shirt, tugging at it for leverage as Aoba pulled himself forward and situated himself in the other's lap, the smallest of smiles on his face. The grip he had on the boy's clothing didn't loosen as he leaned forward, his face disappearing into the crook of Noiz's neck. The tip of his nose brushed along soft skin, taking in a light scent that he couldn't really put a name to in his condition.

A small hum rumbled in his throat as Aoba tilted his head up a bit, lips pressing against the smooth plane on Noiz's jaw over and over, inching towards his chin before the blue-haired male pulled away again. His expression turned to one of slight suspicion at the sight of a smirk on the blonde's lips, hands moving to land a firm grip on Aoba's waist.

"What the hell is that look for?" he asked, leaning back a bit. In the back of his mind, he wondered how smashed he had to get in order to start slurring. Although his poise had gone elsewhere, he was still quite articulate. Noiz's smirk only widened, the younger leaning so that their noses were almost touching.

"I should get you drunk more often," he replied with a light chuckle before pressing his lips to Aoba's in a not-so-gentle kiss.


	3. Hands in His Pockets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: do it - i think this one was one character slides their hands into the other's back pockets. hell if i remember anything accurately it's been two years.

It's not rare for Aoba and clear to just...lay around with one another. Whether they're in Aoba's bedroom or at Clear's house in Keisen, there are those times when there's no need for words. When they communicate solely on glances and little knowing smiles, fleeting touches, and a kiss in between every now and then.

This time, they're at Clear's house. The glow of the sunset is penetrating the dust caked onto the window and giving the room an orange tint. They've been in bed for hours without moving; without talking. Their noses brush as they inch their bodies closer together, seemingly unable to be close enough to one another.

Aoba threads his fingers through platinum locks slowly, watching the way the resilient strands drop back into place as though they'd never been disturbed. The pink eyes he's come to love so much have taken on the orange light illuminating the android's face, and somehow they look more brilliant than usual. He wishes he could stare into them forever. Instead though, he brushes the tips of their noses together affectionately, listening to Clear's intake of breath before pulling away again.

Clear, on the other hand, is enraptured by the male by his side. The light frames Aoba's hair delicately, making him even more ethereal in the android's eyes. His heart swells at the little affectionate gestures the other male shows to him, an almost unfathomable happiness blooming inside of him. It's not as though he doesn't feel like this with the blue-haired male all the time, but something about this time in particular is almost overwhelming in its entirety. He can't really describe it with words—he just feels it.

"Aoba-san..." he breathes, a whisper as not to disturb the silence surrounding them.

"Hm?" Aoba answers him, shifting a little if only to get closer, so that their lips are practically brushing with each spoken syllable. Clear takes the time, the small space between their words, to wrap his arms around his lover's waist and pull Aoba flush against him (as if they weren't already pretty much glued to one another at this point), gloveless hands slipping into the back pockets of Aoba's jeans, just to have them there. He notes the immediate appearance of colour in those previously pale cheeks and smiles before claiming Aoba's lips in a gentle kiss.

"I love you."

Aoba doesn't answer him verbally, instead kissing his lips again before opening his eyes to look at him.

_I love you too._


	4. no title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: winter baby - idk if this was one character helping the other decorate the tree, or both characters decorating the tree together but all you need to know is there's a tree that needs decorating.

He didn’t understand. Five-foot-eight (nearly five-foot-nine, _thank you very much_ ) was a nice medium-sized height. So why in the hell was he so small compared to everyone else in his life? That included the Christmas tree that he’d helped Granny drag out of storage. It still baffled him that Granny was even into something like decorating for Christmas time (or for any holiday, at that). But enough about that; that wasn’t what was important at the moment.

Granny had left the house for some reason or another, leaving Aoba with the task of decorating the tree. Except.

"Average height but still too short… What the hell kind of genetics did Toue give me…" Miffed wasn’t really the word to describe how he was feeling at the moment. Even with the help of the footstool, he was a couple of inches out of reach to put the star up.

"Aoba."

The familiar voice was more than enough to snap him out of his tetchy reverie, hazel eyes landing on the owner well after he knew who it was.

"Hm?" Then it occurred to him. "Hey Ren, could you help me put the star on top of the Christmas tree?" He figured the dilemma was self-explanatory. There was a brief show of confusion on the taller’s face before he moved closer.

"Roger."

Prepared to hand the nearly-gaudy ornament off to the other, Aoba practically shrieked in surprise as his center of gravity was thrown completely out of balance, his feet lifting from the ground. A mess of flailing limbs and sounds of protest went completely unheard by Ren as he hugged the smaller male’s legs to his chest.

"Ren! What’re you doing?!"

"Is this high enough?" he asked, blinking up with those tender amber eyes, completely oblivious as to why Aoba was freaking out… But whether or not he’d been expecting to be helped with such methods, but it certainly made things easier to have the top of the tree level with his face.

With a sigh, the star was placed and fiddled with until it was balanced, putting the final touch on the tree.

"There," the smaller mumbled to himself before glancing down at Ren. Despite being rather light for his body type, Aoba couldn’t help but wonder how Ren was able to support him without waver. Didn’t his arms get tired? Still the same reliable Ren. A small smile settled on his face. “You can put me down now Ren; I’m finished.” Gentle hands ruffled Ren’s hair before there was a change in height, Aoba’s feet touching the floor once more.

"Thanks for the help."

"The pleasure is mine."


	5. They're Waiting for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: something about the poster's character being in a coma and what your character would say if they were at their bedside or something. i'd have saved all the prompts word for word if i'd thought about ever posting these for people to read.

Aoba's not sure how many weeks he's spent silently debating the same thing. It's not an easy decision, but now he thinks he's just being a coward about everything. He knows he's the one who broke Mizuki's mind—put him in the hospital, in a state that the other might never come out of. Not exactly the easiest thing to admit to, but who else can even do that sort of thing? All he knows is that he wishes he didn't exist—that Scrap didn't exist. That he wasn't the fruit of some messed up experiement, and set out into the real world without anyone knowing. And the more he thinks of it that way, the more he wants to make it a reality.

But of course, he can't bring himself to do something like that because he thinks about all of what he'd be leaving behind if he did. If by some sort of miracle, Mizuki were to wake up afterwards, only to hear about something like that... Well, Aoba knows he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for that either.

It's closer to evening when he finally decides he wants to see him.

The hospital is the same as it's always been; noisy as hell. He's glad he made an appointment beforehand. He signs in and heads straight for the elevators, and for someone who's been avoiding this for so long, he seems to be doing absolutely nothing to stall himself despite wanting to run away altogether.

When he reaches the right floor, Aoba makes his presence known at the nurse's station before heading down the hall—a strained smile that hides all of his apprehension for the sake of avoiding questions.

The room number stares at him with peeling black paint, as well as a little name card that lets him know that this is the right room. And he just stares for a while, wondering what he's even going to do while he's here. What he's going to say; what he can say... His grip on the door handle is impossibly tight, palm sweaty and knuckles white. But Aoba takes a deep breath. He's already there, and if he turns back now, it's a waste of his time. He hates wasting his time.

The door opens noisily, the sound scratching against his ears before he steps inside silently, the same noise echoing off of the walls as he closes the door again. With another deep breath, he finally turns around, hazel eyes lifting to the bed in the middle of the room where Mizuki is sleeping. Or as close to sleeping as one can get when they're comatose. Aoba stays rooted to his place near the door, as though moving will somehow disturb his friend even though he knows it won't. He slips out of his jacket and hangs it up before pulling up a chair so he can sit, his eyes never leaving Mizuki's face, except to look at the tubes and wires connected to him, keeping him alive.

Aoba's silent for nearly fifteen minutes; just sitting and watching him. He looks mostly the same, though his hair is a bit shaggier, and he looks pale but that's a given. He finds that every time he wants to start talking, his eyes well up with tears, the guilt festering in his chest swells and eating away at him to the point where it's almost too hard to breathe and he has to wait. But at some point, he's able to swallow it down.

"M...mizuki...? Can you hear me?" Of course, Aoba knows he can't, but he's heard somewhere that talking to unconscious people is good. That they can actually hear you somewhere deep inside themselves or something equally as false-sounding. Well, whatever. He has things he needs to say—either for himself or Mizuki's sake, he's not really sure at this point. But aoba's certain that if he doesn't say these things, he'll over-think himself (and Ren, probably) to death.

"Well, I know you can't but the nurses said it's a good thing to talk to people when they're unconscious or whatever..." His voice cracks and he stops long enough to get himself under control. "Uhh... I'd ask how you're doing but I can kinda see..." Now he's pretty glad that the other can't see or hear him because what the hell is he even saying?

"Everyone out here is pretty much the same, I guess. A lot of your teammates have been discharged and are back at the usual spot... They're waiting for their leader to come back to them, you know. For whatever reason, I thought that they'd all just go about their own lives and do whatever but..."

The thought makes Aoba smile sadly. He goes to see the members of Dry Juice every so often just for the hell of it, and every time he goes, he expects to see an empty alleyway—or rather, he wouldn't be surprised if he did. But they're there like they've always been.

He glances down at one of Mizuki's lifeless hands before reaching for it, surprised at how cold it feels in comparison to how it usually does. It makes him sadder.

"They're all waiting for you, so you need to wake up soon..." His voice starts to die off with the tears that have started to roll down his cheeks, muffled sobs clogging his throat.

There are still things he wants to say that he thinks Mizuki should hear, but he's sure he'll visit again soon.


	6. no title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: kiss me — eyelid kiss

Watching other people sleep was one of those things that Aoba considered to be extremely personal. Like being in another person's bathroom, or using their shower, or looking at the contents of their refrigerator. It was one of those things that not just anyone was allowed to do, but usually people one trusted; someone who wouldn't judge them if they ate a certain food or didn't have much food at all, wouldn't make fun of them if they had to use a certain hygiene product, or wouldn't get angry if they snored.

Aoba wondered if that's how much Noiz trusted him. If the teen had finally really learned what it meant to rely on another human being. Sure, aoba had been able to convince him that the world wasn't as bad as he'd thought and that not everyone was a total jackass, but sometimes there were certain things that couldn't be changed. Trust issues were probably one of them.

Anything could be done to someone while they slept. They could be smothered, drugged, probably even stabbed and a number of other things. People were completely defenseless when they were asleep. For someone like Noiz, being completely defenseless was probably a total no-go. But as the blonde laid next to him, that childish face completely relaxed with the absence of consciousness, Aoba couldn't help but think that maybe he'd built a strong bond with the younger male.

That and... He was kind of cute like that. No smartass remarks or random demands for a Rhyme match (yeah, he still asked for them sometimes).

He kind of wondered what sort of reaction he'd get if he told the younger he was cute when he was asleep.

With that thought in mind and a small smile on his lips, Aoba leaned carefully, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Noiz's body as even breaths left the blonde. Eyelashes of the same colour tickled Aoba's chin as he pressed feather-light kisses to each of Noiz's eyelids, a look of adoration floating in his light eyes.


	7. The Advantages of Being Shorter than Your Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: kiss me — collarbone kiss.

It was a little infuriating how out of all of Aoba's male friends—old and new—he was the shortest. It wasn't really an issue of pride, but being the smallest always seemed to carry some sort of unwarranted catch like a bad package deal or something, and it only added insult to injury when any of said male friends were younger than him.

Although Clear didn't seem any younger in appearance (maybe only in personality, just from an outward glance), chances were he was built a while after Aoba was born. Naturally, because he wasn't human, there hadn't been any awkward teenager phases for the other male; no acne or cracking voice or growth spurt. hHe’d been taller than Aoba for the entirety of both of their lives, and it didn't look as though that would be changing anytime soon.

Even if it were annoying sometimes, there were many times that Aoba could say that he was glad Clear was taller. Hugs were nicer; that was a definite plus. Clear could wrap his arms around the blue-haired male and Aoba would feel safe.

Like now, for example.

Arms wrapped around Clear's waist loosely, hands linked behind the taller male's back. Clear's arms rested gently against his shoulders. And they just stood there. Silence drifted around them without disturbance, Aoba's cheek pressed to Clear's pale skin left exposed by the open collar of that too-short white shirt before he nuzzled his way in further, lips brushing along the gentle protrusion of clear's collarbone before pressing a light kiss there.

At least there was one advantage to being a little shorter.

There were probably more, but Aoba couldn't be bothered with thinking about them. Not while he and Clear stood there wrapped in one another's arms, surrounded by nothing but the sound of their breathing.


	8. Soul Mates Don't Actually Exist, Do They?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: that one about all humans being born with timers on their wrists, that run out once they've met their soul mate.

"You’re not serious, are you?"

“That’s what these numbers have been all this time?”

"Yeah, man! legend has it that when your timer hits zero, you’ve met your soul mate or something."

"It sounds like a bunch of shit to me," Aoba says, eyebrows knitted in irritation. He’s been hearing people talking about this bullshit for a while now, and it’s starting to get on his nerves.

What the hell is a soul mate anyway? Someone you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with? How boring. There’s no fun in sticking to one person the entire time—which is why the blue-haired male is convinced that whoever made that shit up is probably hiding the real truth behind it. It’s a little strange that people are born with ticking timers on their wrists. And it’s a little thrilling as well. For all they know, it’s counting down the seconds until they die.

_Now that would be one hell of a turn-out_ , Aoba thinks. His buddies don’t really pay him and his chronic pessimism any mind, continuing to chatter on about their timers, comparing numbers and a bunch of other shit he’s not interested in. So he leaves, heaving himself up off of the worn-out couch and heading straight for the door, hands in his pockets.

He’s never been interested in it, but now he can’t stop thinking about the numbers on his wrist. He sees them sometimes when he’s in the shower or when he wears a short-sleeve shirt (which isn’t very often), but he always ignores them. Just to rid himself of the idiotic thoughts (because seriously, as if soul mates even fucking exist), the blue-haired male pushes the sleeve of his jacket up and blinks down at the numbers, hazel eyes widening.

_00:03:24… 00:03:23… 00:03:22…_

Wait… what the fuck?

"…Three minutes, huh?" he says to himself. And although he doesn’t believe in it, the prospect of meeting his so-called soul mate is kind of intriguing. What if it’s someone he’s going to fight? That in itself makes him want to laugh. An amused smirk paints his lips as he continues walking through the narrow alleyway.

At least until someone brushes against him. And says something about it.

"Oi, watch where you’re walking, kid."

"You’re the one who needs to watch it," he says, a sneer covering his visage. It’s not too long before the front of his shirt is being grabbed in the most pretentious manner, the asshole who bumped into him trying to size him up with a glare—to which Aoba only smirks before his fist connects hard with the guy’s jaw, his buddies dumbfounded before they start to zero in on him. He’s almost completely forgotten about his timer by this point and takes a quick glance at it. He’s unsure of how much time is left, but he knows for sure that it hasn’t run out yet. At least he can be proud knowing it’s not one of these assholes who’re supposed to be his so-called soul mate.

It’s three-to-one and Aoba’s amused to no end as the bastards try to keep up with him before hitting the ground one by one, each harder than the one before him.

"Hey—!"

Aoba’s sharp eyes turn the second he hears another voice from behind him, a frown on his face.

"Woah, relax! I’m not looking to take you on," the stranger says with his hands up in surrender, an easy smile on his lips—and for some reason or another, Aoba feels himself calming down immediately. "I gotta know where you learned to fight, though."

"Nowhere in particular," he says nonchalantly, with the tiniest upturn of his mouth.

"A natural huh?" the guy asks, his green eyes widening in what Aoba guesses is disbelief. Yeah, he’s gotten that before. "You should join my Rib team—I could use someone like you."

"I don’t do teams," Aoba says, suddenly losing interest in their conversation, but not in the guy standing in front of him. The redhead clicks his tongue in disappointment before crossing his arms. He doesn’t look too upset though—like he thinks he’ll be able to get Aoba to join one way or another.

"Well can I at least know what your name is then?" he asks. Like it matters or something.

"It’s Aoba," is the simple answer.

"Aoba, huh," the other says with a small smile. "I’m Mizuki, the leader of Dry Juice." Aoba’s vaguely familiar with the name—he’s heard stories about them from all over, but he’s never really been all that interested. Though he always wondered what it’d be like to get into a fight with someone from Dry Juice…

With that thought in mind, Aoba gets an offhanded glance at his wrist, his eyes widening a bit in disbelief.

_…00:00:00…_

_…So it’s this guy?_

Talk about unexpected.

"Ahh—, I gotta get back inside before they trash my place or something," Mizuki says with a sheepish smile, before sending Aoba something like a mock-salute. "See you around, Aoba."

The blue-haired male doesn’t say anything in return, he only watches his new acquaintance jog up the small flight of stairs that leads to the door of a building that he’s never been inside, but gets the feeling he’ll be pretty familiar with it sooner or later.


	9. no title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: i have no idea what the prompt for this was. like i couldn't even begin to remember.

There’s a fine line between being persistent and being annoying. Aoba thinks that the blonde in front of him is really pushing the boundary right now. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t in the middle of his work shift. Even then, he probably wouldn’t give an answer.

It’s been like this for the larger half of the week—with Noiz coming into the shop to do nothing more than bother him.

"…Don’t you know how to give up?" he asks after getting off the phone with a customer. He just sold some more stuff. "I’ve turned you down every day this week."

The blonde on the other side of the counter just kind of stares at him with a blank expression, but Aoba knows better by now. Faces like that are only a cover-up for what’s to come. And it’s usually something bothersome.

"You could save yourself the trouble and just go out with me," he says in that nonchalant tone; the one that suggests that Aoba’s the one causing the problem and not the other way around. The blue-haired male sighs heavily.

The whole situation is really troublesome for him. Haga-san’s even talked to him about having the younger male loitering in the store so often. If his job is involved, he knows he’s gotta do something about it—and quickly. It’ll make him seem like he’s easy to bend, but it’s not worth potentially losing his job over.

"If i say yes, will you stop coming into the shop? My boss is getting pretty ticked."

"Sure." there’s a shrug of shoulders that makes Aoba want to throw something at the kid, but he resists for the sake of professionalism or whatever.

"Fine. I’ll do it," he says, waving a hand dismissively. He just wants Noiz out of the damn shop so he can continue working. There’s a smirk on the blonde’s face as he turns and leaves the store, staying true to his word.


	10. Perfect Weather is a Subjective Term

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: kiss me — a kiss in the rain.

He’d seen it coming.

The dark clouds that had been rolling in all day were indication enough that Midorijima was in for some rain at one point or another in the near future. And even though Aoba had insisted that they stay inside, he’d ended up being powerless against Clear, even with his protests of 'It looks like it's going to rain'.

He couldn’t even really remember what the other male wanted to leave the house for (something about the weather being perfect for a walk, or something), a bit of a disgruntled disposition sinking in as the first few drops stained the concrete beneath their shoes.

_Perfect weather, my ass._

"I told you it was going to rain," he mumbled as he felt the drops getting heavier, a light sheet of rain falling over them in no time. The sidewalk they were walking along had already begun to form puddles. "We should’ve stayed home."

Sighing a bit and looking to his side, Aoba stopped mid-step before turning around. Clear had stopped walking some time ago, that dejected expression he wore whenever he did something wrong (or thought he did something wrong) already set in place, his pink eyes pointed to the ground. He’d probably realized that he’d made a mistake.

Pushing his damp bangs out of his eyes, he backtracked, moving to stand right in front of the taller male. Aside from his warnings, he wondered what else was going through Clear’s mind. Aoba figured that it was also one of those situations where having one’s excitement trampled was a major factor. After all, Clear had been really enthusiastic about taking a walk, for whatever reason.

"It’s not that big of a deal, Clear," he said softly, hands reaching to cup the android’s cheeks gently.

"Aoba-san, sometimes when you’re angry, it’s as though you can’t hear anything outside of your own ranting," the other answered, eyes lifting to meet Aoba’s hazel ones. Blue eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit as Clear’s lips tilted up at the corners, the rain suddenly stopping.

Clear had taken his umbrella out.

Aoba narrowed his eyes at the android before speaking again.

"What do you mean i can’t hear anything?" he asked, mouth turning into that all-too-familiar frown.

"I was trying to tell you to stay under the umbrella, but you didn’t hear me," was Clear’s answer. "Probably because you were going on about the weather.."

Aoba huffed. Well, it wasn’t even really his fault; he’d wanted to stay in the house. Clear was the one who insisted on going outside in the first place. He could feel another rant coming.

"Yeah, well—mmph!"

His words had been cut off completely, the end of his sentence fumbling from his lips and onto clear’s as the other bent the slightest bit to steal a kiss. Contrary to what Clear had said about him not being able to hear anything while he ranted, Aoba could certainly hear everything now; the sound of the rain hitting clear’s vinyl umbrella stood out the most, though. And maybe the sudden erratic pounding of his heart.

"We should head home, Aoba-san," Clear mentioned in that gentle tone he seemed almost completely incapable of the first time anyone heard him speak. "You’re soaked."

"Y-yeah…"


	11. Dude, It's Not Like I Haven't Seen it Before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: i don't remember what the overall theme of the meme was but the prompt was " seeing my muse naked" or something very similar. oh by the way, the referral to the "new year's resolution" was a headcanon by this particular mizuki's mun that mizuki was trying to stay sober. i realized after reading this properly that i'd messed up and it didn't make any sense so i rewrote it.

"Thanks for letting me stay over."

"No problem. What're best friends for?"

Mizuki's voice carries from the bedroom, down the hall, and into the small bathroom where Aoba's just stepped out of the shower. The night before is a near total blur to the blue-haired male, but he remembers the major role reversal—Mizuki carrying him home drunk instead of the other way around. Well, with the other's new year's resolution in effect, it was a less surprising occurrence than it might've been if Mizuki wasn't abstaining from alcohol. But that didn't make it any less embarrassing.

If what the redhead says is true, Aoba had been absolutely plastered the night before. Just the thought alone is embarrassing enough—almost as embarrassing as knowing that they couldn't even make it all the way to his house, instead opting to settle at Mizuki's apartment for the night.

Aoba's not even sure what he was thinking when he went out...

Well, it's in the past now and there's nothing he can do about it aside from knowing he's well deserving of the splitting headache that he managed to numb to a dull throb with the medicine he was given.

The heat from the water managed to relieve some of the nausea he woke up with. He feels kind of weird being in another person's bathroom—even if it's Mizuki's. Bathrooms are one of those personal spaces (different from a bedroom, but just as important as the contents of someone's refrigerator) that he can't be comfortable in unless it's his own.

He's in the middle of drying off (and taking his sweet time doing it) when the bathroom door swings open without warning.

"Don't just walk in!" He's not too sure why, but he scrambles to try and cover himself before Mizuki can see anything.

The other male kind of just stands there, his eyebrows raised and an amused expression on his face.

"Well, first of all—it's my bathroom," Mizuki says with a laugh, walking straight to the sink to start brushing his teeth. "Second of all, I've seen you naked before so it's not like i'm seeing anything new." Hearing that only makes Aoba more embarrassed.

"That's not the point—!"

"You're gonna catch a cold." Mizuki's tone is nonchalant as he glances at the blue-haired male again, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Aoba just huffs and tries his best to ignore the redhead.

"Y-yeah, whatever..."


	12. We're All Dancers Deep Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the quick title i gave this one implies that it's also a soul mate themed piece, but i guess it's different from the other one in here. EDIT: I READ ON AND IT'S THE ONE ABOUT YOUR CHEST GLOWING WHEN YOU MEET YOUR SOUL MATE.
> 
> anyway, this one might be one of my absolute favourites (aside from every single drabble i wrote for a mizuki lol) because of its setting. there was a point in time were me and a few other muns were brainstorming for a dmmd dance au. long story short, clear's a dancer classically trained by toue, and aoba's a street dancer who grew up in the old resident district which is like. street dance capital of the universe. your average dance movie plot ensues.

Hazel eyes widened at the sight before him, the silence suddenly surrounding the previously riotous scene seeming to put things more into perspective—like tunnel vision for the ears or something. Who thought that it would be a good idea to let this guy into the middle of the circle? It must’ve been some cruel joke played off by someone who could pinpoint the non-street dancers and throw them in into the fire.

But at the same time...

Everyone in the Old Resident District loathed anyone who so much as set foot on the Toue Academy grounds—regardless of whether or not they actually attended. Just to get into the place meant that they were better off than everyone he knew, and they’d grown up being taught to hate those who thought they were better. It was beyond obvious that this guy went there (what he was doing in the Old Resident District was beyond Aoba). Despite that, Aoba couldn't be bothered with making the white-haired male stop, even if he knew that most (see: the entire Old Resident District) wouldn’t be able to appreciate it.

There was something about the way his arms extended, how weightless he made himself seem (even in the heavy-looking clothing he was wearing), the flawlessness of his pirouette—even the serene-looking expression he wore the whole time he was moving—that had Aoba mesmerized. He didn’t want him to stop. Sadly he couldn’t say the same for everyone else watching.

He wasn’t sure of when the noise had started again—the booing, the shouts for him to "take his ballerina shit somewhere else", the laughing—but it made inexplicable emotions flood into his chest. It hurt. Watching the expression that fell on the stranger’s face once he’d come to realize that the applause he thought he was hearing was actually ridicule, Aoba felt his heart clench tightly in his chest.

The blue-haired dancer wasn’t about to claim himself to be a fan of ballet, or any other dance aside from street for that matter, nor was he particularly fond of anyone who went to Toue Academy, but... What he’d just witnessed was—... He didn’t even have words for it.

Watching the head of white hair disappear into the crowd, Aoba moved without hesitation, no longer interested in the scene before him. He’d much rather learn more about what he’d just seen. He broke into a gentle jog, chasing after those long legs carrying the other male away rather quickly.

"Hey! Hey, wait!" His hand shot out almost desperately to grab at the taller’s wrist, effectively stopping him in his tracks. Lucky for aoba, he wasn’t the type to lash out upon physical contact. A pair of light-coloured eyes turned on him, disappointment flooding them to the brim. "Why’re you running away? That was amazing..." He jutted a thumb back in the direction of the crowd still pulsing with energy.

"They didn’t seem to think so," came the soft reply. For someone so much bigger, the guy’s voice had a light timbre.

"Who cares what they think?" he asked with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They’re just sour because you’re from the Academy." Eyebrows disappeared in like-coloured bangs, delicate pink irises staring in disbelief.

"How did you know...?"

"No one around here can dance like that," Aoba replied with a small shrug to his shoulders. "Not that anyone really wants to... It made you stick out like a sore thumb."

"I’d much rather be able to dance like them—like you," the other replied, a look of longing on his face as he glanced back at the crowd again. "Oh well. it’s not like it matters because—..."

Aoba stared up at the white-haired male, waiting for him to continue. But when nothing else came from thin lips decorated with two moles on the right side of his chin, his eyebrows furrowed. Hazel optics locked onto pink, eyes narrowing as he noticed that he wasn’t being looked in the face anymore. He was about to investigate, but something distracted him. A light glowing coming from… the taller’s chest.

Was that why he was so drawn to the other when he’d seen him dance? That had to be it. Well, maybe not. He probably would’ve been dumbfounded regardless of whether or not this was meant to happen. Neither of them said anything. Not until Aoba broke the silence again.

"There’s... There’s no reason why you can’t learn to dance like us," he said, speech faltering the slightest bit. He couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the dim reddish glow peeking through white fabric.

"Can you teach me?" "Teach you?" he repeated. Those words were enough to make him forget about the light show going on between the two of them for a minute or two. "I don’t know if I’m capable of teaching anyone to dance..."

"We’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on," came that gentle voice again, and Aoba fiound himself caught up all over again. "Might as well do something productive, right?"

He had a point.

"I’m Clear, by the way."

A gentle smile.

"...Aoba."


	13. no title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: i'm not sure if this was from the same "kiss me" meme, but the prompt was "romantic kiss". i don't think awkward is synonymous with romantic but. this is also my absolute favourite drabble that i wrote in the year and few months that i spent roleplaying as aoba.

It’s kind of awkward in the darkness of the living room, even with the television on and making background noise. Some movie had just finished—an over-exaggerate love story or something. Aoba had stopped paying attention at some point during the sex scene (which was "lame because they didn’t even get to see anything", according to the other boy in the room). Mizuki is on the floor next to him, his knees drawn to his chest as those green eyes stay glued to the small electronic device a mere twenty feet away from them.

Aoba’s been glancing from Mizuki, to the floor, back to Mizuki, to the wall, and back to Mizuki again for about… Twenty minutes? Longer? Probably longer, yeah. He’s been thinking about what it would be like to experience that kind of thing—like in the movie. Well, he’s only sixteen. He’s got plenty of time to go through those sorts of things. But he’s never really sat down and thought about it. …Will someone even be able to love him like the guy in the movie loved his girlfriend? Will he ever have his first kiss? He always feels awkward when it comes to talking about things like dating. He’s literally the only guy in his grade who hasn’t been kissed. He’s in no rush to get it over with… But he thinks it’d be nice…

"…You’ve been staring at me for a while, Aoba," the voice next to him says, effectively startling him out of his thoughts. "Is something up?" Mizuki turns to him then, the blue light from the television casting shadows over his features.

Mizuki’s two years older than him—a senior. He was held back a year for excessive skipping, and Aoba’s pretty sure that’s the main reason they’re even friends. If they hadn’t been placed in the same class, they probably wouldn’t know each other. And he probably wouldn’t be wondering what it’s like to kiss his best friend. He knows well enough that Mizuki’s the kind of guy who likes to flirt and stuff—which is the main reason he’s pretty sure that the other wouldn’t be interested in him if Aoba really and truly had feelings that he wanted to be returned. That thought alone kind of steps on his confidence.

"It’s nothing," is what Aoba finally answers with, eyes turning back towards the television. There’s an infomercial on now. He can feel those light green eyes watching him as though Mizuki doesn’t believe him. Aoba doesn’t blame him—he’s not convincing himself either. He’s starting to sweat under the self-fabricated pressure.

"You know, Aoba… if there’s anything you need to talk about or whatever, I’m all ears," the other says, sounding kind of concerned. Jeez, is it really that bad? Is he really worrying the other with his juvenile behaviour? Talk about embarrassing. "I’m probably not the best person to go to for advice, but I’m always willing to help—especially if it’s you." Well if that doesn’t ignite colour in Aoba’s cheeks, he’s not sure what will.

"It’s really nothing…" he insists, but he knows he’s failing miserably at sounding the least bit truthful. "Ah, well… There is something, but it’s kind of…" Dumb. Embarrassing. _…Weird._ Who the hell thinks about kissing their best friend?

"What is it?" the other asks, turning the slightest bit. Oh God, now he’s got Mizuki’s full attention. Can he die? _Please?_

"Ah—, well… It’s kind of embarrassing," he continues, trying to drag it out and see if Mizuki will lose interest, though it doesn’t seem like that’ll be happening.

"Yeah?"

"Uh… What’s it like?"

"….What’s what like?"

God damn it Mizuki, take a fucking hint!

"Uh—… What’s it like to kiss someone?"

The question hangs in the air like a wet towel—one that was used to clear up something gross or something—and Aoba’s wishing he could disappear into the empty spaces in the large t-shirt he’s wearing. Mizuki kind of just stares at him, as if he can’t believe what he’s just been asked.

"You mean… You’ve never kissed someone before?" he asks.

"Isn’t that obvious?" Aoba asks, finally cracking under the humiliation. "I wouldn’t be asking if I did."

"But you’re sixteen and—"

"I know that!"

"Okay, okay. Sorry." Mizuki lets out a small laugh, clearly enjoying Aoba’s misery more than the blue-haired male likes. "What’s it like?" he continues, looking elsewhere, like he’s trying to come up with some kind of metaphorical significance to replace pressing your lips against someone else’s lips with. "Well, I guess it depends."

"…On what?" Well, now he’s just becoming a _curious_ square.

"On a lot of things," Mizuki answers. "Like how wet or dry your lips are, whether or not it’s a quick thing or something you want to last… Whether there’s tongue or not… A lot of things."

Well shit. Aoba didn’t think that it was such a complex concept. Then again, Mizuki probably did a lot of kissing in his almost-eighteen years of being alive. There was probably more that neither of them knew.

"I-is that so…" Aoba responds, his head filling with a bunch of new questions that he’s not going to put himself through the strain of asking.

"You wanna know what it’s like?" Mizuki asks suddenly, making hazel eyes flicker and widen.

_…What._

"…What?" Oh look, a time in which having his inner thoughts translate into spoken words isn’t a disaster.

"Do you wanna kiss?" Mizuki repeats himself, the chuckle in his voice making it hard for Aoba to tell if the redhead’s serious or not. There’s even a small smirk on his lips. Or maybe that’s the light from the TV making more shadows.

"I—…"

"It’s fine if you do," the other says, shifting to lean back against the front of the small sofa in the living room. "We’re friends and stuff right? It’s probably better to give your first kiss to your best friend than some asshole who might not take it seriously… Don’t you think?" Well, Aoba’s never really thought about his first kiss negatively until this very moment. But he couldn’t really argue with Mizuki’s logic.

"I guess…" he agrees, nodding a bit. He’d be pretty pissed if someone stole his first kiss or something like that.

"C’mere," he says, and there’s a little smile playing at his lips.

Suddenly Aoba’s entire world seems to go silent, like he’s underwater or something; his face is hot and his heart feels like it's stuck in his throat. It’s not really how he pictured things happening when he finally did have his first kiss, but he can’t really complain… Well, except for the fact there’s an infomercial for a body hair trimmer playing in the background. He feels kind of like a small frightened animal with the way Mizuki’s getting so much closer than usual; it makes him jittery and he’s eager. Too eager.

He leans forward as well, not entirely sure how to go about things, and his eyes slip closed before he leans faster. Then there’s pain. And a groan that’s not his.

"Well shit Aoba, I didn’t expect you to headbutt me…" Mizuki sounds amused despite being in obvious pain, a hand pressed against the side of his face. "You stay still—I’ll do all the work." Aoba nods once, embarrassed beyond his wits, but complies anyway, sitting back and waiting.

Mizuki’s not really sure what’s brought on this sudden eagerness in his friend, but he’s not about to complain. Kissing people is nothing—he’s done it a million times by now, probably. But he wants to at least make it enjoyable for Aoba (even if the other male has no idea what in the hell he’s doing). It’s kind of cute, actually.

"Close your eyes," the redhead says, rubbing at his face once more before pulling his hand away. He watches as Aoba obeys without question and smiles a little. He can’t help but think that the blue-haired male is kind of lucky to be giving up his first kiss like this. He wishes he could say the same for himself. That aside though, Aoba looks kind of nice in the light being cast by the TV. It sounds kind of dumb, but he’s never really realized how cute his best friend is. Like in a general sense of the word. Even if there were a possibility for something romantic to come between them, Mizuki would probably stop it from happening. He’s already surprised that they’ve even become such good friends; dating would just ruin that.

He reaches a hand out and tilts Aoba’s chin up the slightest bit, licking his lips before he leans in, eyes open and watching for a reaction before he lets them close briefly, pulling away after. Aoba’s lips are softer than they look.

Hazel eyes slip open after the other pulls away, and Aoba can feel his cheeks burning. It wasn't anything like he'd grown up expecting—no fireworks in the background, no symphony of violins, no breathtaking whirlwind of emotions. Just a gentle press of lips, a little slippage between them. That's all. He’s still glad they’re in the dark, though.

"How was that?" Mizuki asks in that usual upbeat tone. "Not terrible or anything, huh?"

"It was… Better than I thought," he admits. Mizuki laughs at him, and Aoba can’t really help but laugh along with the redhead. But truth be told, he’s glad it was Mizuki that this sort of thing happened with. Had it been anyone else, it probably wouldn’t have turned out so nicely.

At least now he can stop wondering what it would be like to kiss his best friend.


End file.
